


Cody

by impassiveimp



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Drabble Collection, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impassiveimp/pseuds/impassiveimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>[[EDIT: This work has been changed to be the main place where I post any drabbles I write to make things easier on me!]]</b>
</p>
<p>Current chapter: Zombie AU drabble.</p>
<p>"First rule of the zombie apocalypse: don't let anyone know you're anything less than unstoppable or prepare to have a knife shoved into your gut and your supplies stolen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Indentity Crisis: Stardust/Randy Orton

**Author's Note:**

> I took a break from writing the third chapter of that Randy/Stardust story to write another Randy/Stardust (Cody) story and that's a good summary of my life right now.
> 
> Anyways, poorly written porn ahead but hope you guys like it.

“Cody.”

“Shut up, shut up— _shut up!_ ”

“ _Cody._ ”

A hiss followed what felt like the umpteenth time repeating his name and trying to get him to stop pacing. Every time Randy threw the word out into the open Cody treated it like a personal offense and grew more frenzied. The boy was near frothing at the mouth with some mix of anger and what appeared to be denial, stomping like some twelve year old and waving his arms wildly. 

Randy took his eye off him for one second and he suddenly decided to start painting his face with who knows what and run around in what he assumed was a latex onesie. 

It would be funny—hell, it _was_ funny—if not for the fact that Cody was so insistent on denying everything. Now it was becoming frustrating to try getting a coherent sentence out of the boy without him arguing or throwing a temper tantrum. Admittedly his aggressive behavior was still incredibly reminiscent of his fighting days with the kid, but now it was like it had grown tangled and twisted and out of control. Nevertheless he did not go out of his way to acknowledge Rhodes and potentially set up a practice session just to have him petulantly throw his generosity back in his face. Randy felt his temper flare but took a deep breathe. He'd try one more time and then leave.

“Cody, _will you just_ —shut up for a second?”

“It's _Stardust._ ” He dragged the name out, lisping slightly on the s's and enunciating the words, and, shit, was he wearing contact lenses? What the hell—

“For Christ's sake.” Randy grunted and rubbed a hand over his eyes, “You're serious.”

“It's better than 'the Viper'.” Cody sniffed, haughtily crossing his arms and refusing to even look at him now. The ungrateful shit. 

There was no reason for him to continue arguing save for the fact that no one else was using the gym at four thirty in the morning. Randy, for his part, hadn't been able to sleep; his mind was too wired and repeating the days events over and over in his head like a song stuck on repeat. He had good reason to finally give up and retreat to the building, abandoning the bed that had begun to feel more like a cage closing in on him than comforting. Mindless heart-pumping activity always cleared his head. It was a crutch to fall back on when all else failed and he was too antsy to even attempt normal activities.

Except his skin had only continued to feel tighter and tighter despite his best efforts. He couldn't think straight with feeling like he needed to claw out of his body. There was a desire to dig his fingers into something—into _someone_ —and beat them into the floor until his knuckles were bruised and bleeding. It was a raw, violent urge that tended to force its way into his head during the nights he could almost swear he was hallucinating voices.

At four twenty five Cody Rhodes of all people hustled into the gym.

His arrival was loud compared to the virtual silence of the large room that had previously only been broken by Randy's occasional pauses for breathe. Cody had never been a morning person as far as he could remember, not by a long shot. Randy had to throw him out of bed and march him down to all training sessions and Ted had always had some quip, some clever remark about it. This Cody though, this Cody came in as though it were the middle of the day and not completely dark outside. He hadn't even taken notice of Randy, just automatically walked over to a row of lockers and put a bag away. The movement was so habitual that Randy was willing to bet the younger man did this every morning. 

Which was insane, really. Who worked out at four in the morning?

Well...disregarding his own bouts of insomnia.

Given that there wasn't going to be a better option for a sparring partner for another two hours at least Randy figured he could try reaching out to the boy if just for that morning. They hadn't talked in a long time and they hadn't parted on the best of circumstances, but his building combativeness was beginning to drive him up the wall. And, if Randy were truthful, he was curious to see what his former teammate had possibly improved on. It was always beneficial to check in on enemies first so they couldn't get the advantage.

His first thought when Cody turned around had been who wears their uniform during practice?

His second had been his mind finally fully comprehending what Cody looked like up close.

Randy wasn't oblivious. He'd watched match-ups and kept an eye on all wrestlers, whether they be cautious ally or hostile foe. Cody's outfit shouldn't have thrown him for a loop so harshly but seeing him up close, seeing the _shine_ of the star-patterned outfit, was mind boggling. At least on the television it had looked vaguely breathable to wrestle in. Now...it was very bright. And very tight. And very, well, it looked difficult to do anything in.

Apparently the boy did his own make-up too. 

The star wrapped around his skull with accompanying vivid colors was so reminiscent of Goldust that in that moment Randy could feel distaste surging forward like a stormy tide in the back of his mouth, coiling thickly in his gut and churning alongside his waiting ire. What the hell was Cody doing copying his _brother?_ What happened to all that talk he spewed at him over and over back when they worked together, all that bravado? He had wanted to make a name for himself and prove himself so badly he'd feuded with Randy for _months._

Cody had, of course, only noticed his silent staring after Randy's face had unknowingly contorted into a sneer and the rest played out accordingly.

“Better than having a crooked star painted on my nose.” Randy bit back, feeling childish but vindictively pleased in the argument.

Cody looked affronted at that, as though he couldn't comprehend why anyone would feel the need to take a jab at his choice in attire. It was too easy, honestly. Back in the day Cody was already so simple to wind up tighter and tighter, now he was obviously so out of control of his emotions and thoughts that potshots were bulls-eyes every time.

“I,” Cody announced with a put upon air, “am going to go practice. And pretend your flesh vessel isn't intruding on my plane of existence. Shoo.”

Now it was Randy's turn to stare at the other man, disgruntled. Did he just wave his hands at him like a dog? The _nerve_ of— _who did he think_ —the anger spread viciously at the realization, raised hotly like a boiling kettle. Pretty soon he was going to blow his top and he'd rather not have to do that alone. That usually resulted in property damage and an unsated ache. 

“How about a one-on-one.” It was more of a demand than a question.

Cody paused, half turned towards the section of the gym where a variety of weights rested. While his brows were drawn together and furrowed suspiciously, mouth turned downwards in a grimace, his eyes were contemplative. The kid definitely wanted another go at him. Whatever he was calling himself now—Starlord or Starshine or whatever—didn't matter when Randy knew old grudges were still festering deep down. Cody couldn't deny that. Not entirely, at least.

“Why would I waste my valuable time on you?” The boy shot back, still reluctant. “ _Randy Orton._ What's so special about you that you would even _conceive_ that I would be willing to go against the star's alignment and spend even thirty seconds in your general and _unwelcome_ presence?!”

A bubbly sort of hysterical laughter accompanied Cody's words. He drew out Randy's name just like his own and pronounced each syllable like a death threat. Randy found himself drawn in for a brief second by Cody's changed body language. It was strange--every head tilt, every jittery hand movement that accompanied the words he wanted to punctuate was foreign to him. Cody acted like he was hopped up on espresso shots; he bounced around in place on his heels and cocked his head to-and-fro like a curious bird of prey. This wasn't how Cody used to be, not even when he'd donned a mask and declared war. This was something new, something unknown but still eerily reminiscent of all the pent up resentment that the boy had struggled not to drown in. It looked like he was all but barely keeping his head above water now.

For everything that Randy needed right now, it was perfect. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, plucked words whizzing around in his head like a swarm of enraged hornets carefully.

“I'll cut you a deal.” He stated, a tendril of warmth spooling into his core, “Whoever loses does a favor for the winner.”

Cody paused, his entire body going from erratic and constant movement to sudden stillness. It was both unsettling and fascinating. He stared at Randy, the internal argument that he was so clearly having flickering clearly across his face. On the one hand, he hated Randy so much and _oh no,_ what if he lost? But on the other, what if he won and was able to have the Viper at his whim fully for at least one request? What if he could call on Randy Orton during a WWE match? How would the crowd react? Would they finally show him respect that he deserved?

Randy could pin point the exact moment the pros began to mentally outweigh the cons, the exact second that Cody was deciding to try his hand at Randy once more. It was intoxicating and he had to resist allowing a smile stretch slowly onto his face. Beside his sides his hands clenched and unclenched over and over, his own brand of high maintenance negativity starting to leak out from its previously well locked container. Cody examined his face, scrutinized it for any hint of lying before finally making an odd little noise and taking a step back with his jaw squared.

“...Deal.”

“What, that's it? I was expecting more rambling.” He couldn't resist taking another jab and stepped forward to follow the boy's movements.

His eyes locked onto the other man's nose as it wrinkled in displeasure, a very old-Cody thing of him to do. Their steps were leading them towards a mat so that at the very least neither would be too banged up by the end. 

(Randy wasn't aiming for that at all.)

Cody nearly tripped on the edge of it due to walking backwards, stumbling and pinwheeling his arms in a cartoonish manner to catch himself. Randy could tell he was already off his game. He cracked a thin smile at the sight to keep him off balance even more. This wouldn't be difficult but he didn't necessarily want the fight to be quick. He needed time to savor things and allow the coiled ferocity in him to unwind and relax.

“When do you—”

“Now.” Randy overrode the boy's question and lunged in without warning, drawing out a surprised squawk from the other.

It was almost comical how oddly Cody fought now. It definitely still had that edge of ruthlessness to it, yes. There was a lack of mercy that the old Cody wouldn't have been able to stomach, a bit too much enthusiasm in making another person hurt now. But there was also a strange newness. His attack and defense patterns were completely unpredictable and as far as Randy could tell, spur of the moment. He was using everything now, which was good. It was a definite improvement from his uncertainty before when it came to moves he wasn't sure if he could succeed at perfectly.

But. But, but, but.

It sure as hell wasn't good enough. Not yet.

Randy felt himself lose track of time and fully immerse himself in the fight. It was freeing to let himself grapple and punch, to flip and kick, to just let out all the pent up aggression on someone that he _knew_ could handle it. He wanted to smile, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to do things that were completely out of character and could ruin his image. This was where he belonged: in a ring, with an opponent, clawing for the victory until it was so close he could taste it. 

Sweat trickled down the center of his spine and his brow. There was sweat gathering on Cody's face as well, it made his make-up shine and dampened his hair. The light they were trading blows under was merciless and provided no relief from the heating air. Just as Randy wondered how long the boy could keep things up without having a heat stroke, his opportunity presented itself as Cody's ankle twisted oddly by chance and he stumbled with a pained grunt. 

Randy surged forward, arms wrapping around the other man from behind and locking at his waist before he yanked them both backwards and tucked into a roll. Cody's shoulders slammed down onto the mat and Randy allowed himself a victorious smile as he eased quickly into a perch on the boy's straining legs. The material of his costume was uncomfortable against his skin but he kept his arms and legs locked tightly and drank in Cody's aggravated and frantic huffs as he tried to free himself from the pin. His arms struggled to get enough height and weight to somehow unsettle the balance but in the end proved to be insufficient.

There was no reason for a countdown. They both knew when time was up and Randy relished the sudden bonelessness that Cody sank into. His legs were shaking from the pull of the position but Randy didn't move, not quite yet. He felt high off of adrenaline but the intensity of the situation had stayed, transforming into something else. It was a similar sort of itch but definitely not one that he ever really needed to partake in often.

He could make an exception now. He _wanted_ to make an exception now. The fight was not enough, he needed more.

“So.” He ground out, the word more guttural sounding than he expected, “ _Cody._ ”

Immediately Cody was tensed up beneath him again, fighting against the lock and making an angry sound like an enraged animal. It was perfect, really. He felt a hand thump uselessly against his own leg and in retaliation sank lower and tightened his hold on Cody's thighs. The boy practically choked off a whine of pain at that, his body unused to being bent so harshly for so long.

“Deal's a deal.” And that was met with an incredulous scoff, dramatic enough to make him smile again even though the other couldn't see. 

“I'm _not_ —!”

“Relax, you don't have to call yourself Cody.” The boy's tense muscles eased up again, though suspicion was radiating off of him still. Randy knew he was practically baring his teeth in a grin now. “Just need you to help me with something, like old times.”

There was a short moment where Randy wondered if Cody was even going to be able to figure out his insinuation, developing boner pressed against a leg be damned. But then Cody was inhaling sharply and he knew— _he knew_ —that they were on the same page. He allowed himself a glance at the black-clad legs and ass under him and in his grip. The movement was obvious enough for Cody to see it as well and he felt (finally) some semblance of pure satisfaction when he heard Cody's breath stutter again.

“Yes or no, Rhodes.”

If he said no then Randy would untangle himself from him and never speak of this again. If he said yes though...

“...I'm not a sore loser.”

Randy rolled his eyes and stared in annoyance at the ceiling to try and sort out the myriad of emotions swirling around like a boiling pot ready to overflow. Before Cody could have time to think, he flipped their positions and spun around to plant his knees firmly onto Cody's biceps and pin them to the floor. He was hunkered over the boy now, towered over him to the point of blocking the light and casting a shadow over his chest and face, hands placed on either side of his head. Cody didn't like this new position, he could tell. He didn't want to have to stare his former mentor and ally in the eyes and admit defeat.

Too damn bad.

“Yes or no?” Randy breathed down at him, voice pitched so low he was surprised Cody could hear it at all.

The contacts weren't actually so bad close up, he decided. And maybe the face paint wasn't so bad either. It had smudged badly and been practically wiped away from all the sweating and clutching at each other. The only bits that remained were smeared across sharp cheekbones and hollowed around his brow making him look like he had two black eyes. It was a good look for him, black eyes. Cody swallowed thickly and was unable to break the stare.

“...Yes.”

That was all the incentive Randy needed. He allowed himself to shift and close the distance, mockingly moved as though he were going to dip in for a kiss and then drifted further to clamp his teeth down on the little bit of neck he could reach instead. It wasn't a soft bite, he made sure of that. 

He wanted to get at everything underneath the stupid costume, wanted to bruise and mark up whatever he felt like damaging. The moment he sat up enough to stare down at it though was the moment he realized he had no idea how to exactly do that. Cody let out an amused and nervous sort of chuckle and Randy bristled. He _really_ didn't like being laughed at. Especially not from the kid he trained who had turned himself into a _clown._

Fingers clawed into the other man's hips, relentless and enraged enough to actually rip the fabric. Now Cody was not laughing, he was staring down with something akin to horror in his expression at seeing his precious suit peeled away from his stomach and pelvis to reveal a white pair of briefs on underneath. The sight was so humorously similar to Cody's old costume that it gave Randy pause for a moment before he moved on ripping further along the boy's thighs.

There wasn't time to think, nor was there time to be gentle or giving. Randy wanted to take everything, he wanted to bask in every choked off moan and whine when he sucked down at Cody's hips, his thighs, his sides, everywhere but his very obviously erect penis. He liked this, the build up to impending orgasm. It was a rush that went right to his head and made him unable to think straight. He liked being able to look down at Cody again and watch his face and neck slowly flush bright red underneath the smudged star design. He liked how Cody was still trying to somehow not be himself even though he couldn't do anything _but_ be while Randy licked trails down and around to fray the already breaking, strained rope that was the boy's lifeline. 

“Cody.” He rumbled and felt another roll of satisfaction when the boy inadvertently responded to the name and then hurriedly looked away again.

He was a mess. It really did suit him.

Randy took back everything he said about the inconvenient costume, the garish colors he painted his skin with, the unhinged smile that he attacked people with to keep them at bay and throw _them_ off balance for a change. This was how things should be: the both of them jagged at the edges and too sharp for anyone to get near and understand, too loud for anyone to talk over, too stuck with getting off on revenge and the desire to shred other people to pieces. Cody was panting loudly, one hand thrown haphazardly over his mouth while the other tangled into his own hair, eyes glaring up at Randy for using that name again and Randy closed his free hand over the boy's throat while the other finally pumped his cock.

Cody—no, _Stardust_ —was absolutely ridiculous. He was brash and strange and utterly annoying in all senses of the word. He was a joke. A miserable coping mechanism for a scared boy who couldn't handle himself. Randy liked that. 

Underneath him Stardust's voice cracked when orgasm broke against him finally, legs clenched around Randy's sides tightly and hips strained up away from the floor. His suit lay in tatters on the floor. His blackened eyes fluttered closed, unable to keep open as waves crashed into him without pause. 

He was drowning underneath all that weight. Randy was only too happy to drag him down further.


	2. Omegaverse: shield!Dean/Cody/Randy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this is omegaverse which normally I don't really care for but it made things easier to write. I rewatched a lot of the Rhodes brothers dealing with the Shield lately and got myself on a kick after seeing how brutal Dean is with Cody. (And of course I can't forget Randy.)
> 
> This will probably be a two-parter since I don't have it in me to type the sex scene quite yet.
> 
> Anyways this isn't following any particular timeline (or canon events really) but is set during the Goldust + Cody tag team era.

Fuck Dean Ambrose.

The fight had been in the bag. They were going to win by the skin of their teeth against CM Punk and the Rhodes brothers. Even without being able to cycle all four members through on their little ragtag team Randy felt they were secure. Roman had speared the soul out of Goldust and he himself had managed to get a solid few blows on Punk. Even if they had been lagging (which they _definitely_ weren't), Seth had been tripping up everyone he could get his hands on when the ref wasn't looking. So yeah, he was pretty confident they had the match made.

Except Dean fucking Ambrose hadn't told anyone it was about that time of the year for him. That annoying section where he shouldn't be in ring trading blows with Cody, but instead locked away inside his house with someone to take what he needed to give. Ambrose was an aggressive guy and Randy knew for a fact (after an unfortunate and accidental glimpse into the trio's private lives) that when his biological clock kicked in he was even worse. Anyone who was in his line of fire was going to be brought to their knees or flat on their back. 

Well, excluding himself of course. 

A strong alpha suddenly hit with this intense of a heat was triggering for anyone near. Maybe if it hadn't of been Dean it could've been contained. Maybe if Dean had actually _kept up_ with his calendar he could've just been commentating. Maybe if Randy had somehow sniffed it out sooner he could've been the one in ring. As it was Roman suddenly exhaled like he'd been sucker punched and went to a knee on the apron, Seth immediately closing in and worriedly patting him on the back. Right. Randy had forgotten that Reigns was an omega. How the man had the patience to tolerate two alphas constantly was beyond him and also something he didn't really want to think too hard on.

The muscular man's distress didn't deter Dean in any way. Ambrose kept standing there, pupils dilated and posture stiffened in a show of swelling aggression; his hands clenched and unclenched by his side while his jaw tightened until he was practically snarling at Rhodes. Randy glanced momentarily down at Reigns and noted with detached interest that the other really wasn't taking this well. Maybe they could play this off as Roman being injured by themselves, but if Hunter was watching (which he was—he always was) he'd know what was going on and interrupt things fairly soon without giving away the situation. Hopefully.

This shit storm was a prime example of why mixing alphas, omegas, and betas into one melting pot of pent up violent urges was a bad idea, especially when half the roster didn't seem to keep up with important dates. Too late to think too hard about it now though.

In the ring Cody hadn't quite seemed to have caught on yet. The younger man was pulling himself up from a particularly rough clothesline to the neck while Dean's gaze locked in on his sprawled and struggling form. Randy's stomach roiled with an unidentifiable feeling at the sight and across the ring he spotted Punk finally getting with the program. The tattoo'd man's nostrils flared briefly as he took in the warning scent Ambrose was putting off and that was all it took to make him react near instantly.

“Cody!” Punk yelled over the cheering crowd, hand held out, “C'mon, Cody!”

Goldust too had outstretched his hand and longer body, trying to somehow cross half the ring without leaving the corner. The beta wasn't as in tune with the whole cycle-thing but he was seasoned enough to spot an alpha amping himself up on heat. Randy was willing to bet the older Rhodes was beside himself with worry and that brought a sort of grim satisfaction to the forefront. Though the two didn't blatantly show it, the brothers cared deeply for each others safety in their own ways. It was a good weakness to exploit when possible.

He was hoping Dean would get a hold of himself and swap out. He and Roman had outstretched their own arms, leaned as far as they could go against the ropes (though for a far different reason than protecting a rival omega). What Roman was planning to do when he couldn't even stand properly was up in the air, but having two omegas in the ring was preferable to one omega and one alpha set off. Randy was willing to let this match slide—it was already becoming too much of a hassle to try thinking of a plan to spin this in their favor and somehow cover up everything. 

“This is not good.” Seth mumbled, one hand dragged through his mop of a haircut and the other remaining firmly on Roman's back as though to ground him. Randy resisted the urge to glare at the other man for stating the obvious and clenched the ropes harder. “Think we can swap him out in time?”

Randy grunted in response, too concentrated on the fight to properly respond. Honestly he didn't think so but he remained hopeful at not having to clean up the Shield's mess. Again.

Dean exploded into motion as Cody managed to straighten himself and in an instant Randy knew everything was about to dissolve into chaos. Rhodes barely had time to turn before being clotheslined again to the floor, all the air punched out of his lungs once more and his head smacked against the floor mercilessly. Randy had to hand it to Cody, he saw the exact second the boy realized what was going on ( _definitely_ when Dean's arm connected with his chest) and the subsequent second he knew how hard he was going to have to fight back (obviously when he hit the floor).

Omegas were tricky, clever things. 

They could pick up on an alpha's scent and changing behavior sooner than an alpha could and even a beta's if they were particularly in tune. It enabled them to react accordingly faster than either of the other two categories could ever hope to be and resulted in them being victorious in their endeavors far too many times. There was some reason to that, something about more heightened senses or whatever, but it didn't matter. The younger man hadn't been able to predict Dean's sudden heat because they were mid-match. Randy knew how confusing things got once people starting sweating everywhere and rolling around with each other in a ring.

Cody hadn't been floored yet by the pheromones which was impressive, even if it was only a matter of time. Roman might of reacted quicker because of his close connection and extended exposure to Ambrose, but most omegas in the near vicinity were going to be weak kneed soon enough. And every alpha...well, the budding heat pooled in the pit of his belly was a good indication as to how violent things were potentially going to become. Not that Randy minded a bit of violence. Just maybe not in a foolish display of pure instinct taking over on live tv.

With a yell Dean jumped into the air and then descended knee-first towards Cody. The omega was lucky—he rolled to the side fast enough to avoid the oncoming blow and was smart enough to avoid any skin-to-skin contact with Ambrose. Dean had half a second to pull himself up, too far gone to wince from the blow his limb just took, and then Cody dropped him again with a kick to the chest. If anything the boy seemed to be getting feistier the longer he had to stay in the ring instead of more submissive. It was a trait that Randy remembered well and had had to deal with on multiple occasions. 

Cody quickly turned on heel and reached out to slap hands with Punk, but Ambrose somehow moved quicker and wrapped his arms around the other man, yanking him back and into a half-assed suplex. The boy was wrenched over his shoulder and slammed harshly to the floor on his side. He rebounded and rolled, yelping in pain as the arm he landed on flushed a faded shade of pink. Seth meanwhile was stomping on the corner steps and making as much noise as he could to try and draw Dean's attention. His hollering was, frankly, starting to get more annoying than helpful but Randy didn't move to intervene.

His own hand had drifted slowly downwards and hung limply in the ring while he hunched over the top rope and watched Cody shakily catch his breath and crawl to the nearest side. Rhodes lurched to his feet with the help of the lines and again he was turning to face Dean who had abandoned all pretenses of acting normal and was now growling at the defiant omega. Cody snarled back in response (familiar, too familiar) and squared himself into a proper stance, not willing to back down from the challenge. 

On second thought maybe it was a good thing all these misfits were crammed together. Randy suspected if they were let loose on the streets without supervision even the omegas would be throwing down indiscriminately with innocent bystanders who pissed them off.

“Dean!” Roman yelled, waving his hand in the air to the side of Cody. The movement paused Ambrose momentarily and drew his attention to his weakened comrade. “Dean, c'mon—let us...let us get in on the fight too.”

Emotions warred across Dean's face: recognition, greed, concern, possessiveness and, oh yeah, Randy wanted to get in that ring and teach the overconfident younger man what it truly meant to be an alpha. Did he think he could just hoard any fertile omega for himself without repercussion? With his skill level? With his _issues?_ His head was beginning to throb from all the combined noise. Or maybe it was because he was getting so frustrated.

A warning noise exited his throat before he could stop it, his grip on the ropes painfully tight. Seth examined him with a critical eye, the smaller man somehow in the best control out of their group. He wasn't stupid enough to try touching Randy but did shove himself closer and between him and his friends.

“ _Calm down, man._ ” Seth hissed, “Now's not the time to be makin' a scene!”

Randy could see Cody punching out at Ambrose over Seth's shoulder, making contact but still getting hammered to the floor directly after. His head cracked painfully again and this time he wasn't so quick to gather his arms underneath himself to try and drag his way to safety. Dean was snarling down at his opponent, methodically stalking the boy from behind and taking deliberate but slow steps after every movement Cody made towards the opposite corner. Ambrose's hair was slowly untwining from its carefully slicked back position and making him appear deranged though he didn't notice.

Randy could vaguely comprehend that Seth was still talking to him and was trying to stay in between he and the other two, he could even hear Roman's labored breathing as the man tilted more and more off balance, but the comprehension seemed fuzzier than normal and he realized somewhere in between seeing Dean lick his lips and Cody dragging himself away that he was definitely about to lose control. 

Cody's hair was grabbed, wrenching his head back to display flushed cheeks and a weakening resolve. 

And that's about when Randy's prediction came true and the ring erupted into chaos.

He and Punk seemed to have the same idea at the same time. Both alphas lunged into the ring, rules be damned, and headed straight for the duo. Behind him Seth was yelling angrily and torn between following or staying as a wall between them and Roman's prone form. Goldust was hauling ass over the ropes and jumping into the fold, his own safety thrown to the wind with his little brother in danger. Music was blaring loudly over the speakers and Cesaro of all people along with Tyson Kidd and Natalya were in a dead sprint towards the match. Commentators were screaming about how the fight was getting good and how everyone was about to get the shit kicked out of them for mass entertainment.

Randy kept his attention locked onto Dean who turned to try and meet him and Punk somehow at the same time. He made contact first, weight slammed into Ambrose and knocking him off balance right before Punk's mass toppled them all over harder. For a brief second he was able to see Cody's look of surprise and then his face was mashed into Dean's shirt and the scent of him mixed with the warring scent of Punk just drove him further.

“C'mon! _C'mon!_ ” Seth was hoarsely challenging Cesaro who accepted without hesitation and kicked into the oncoming man's stomach brutally. 

Natalya had wormed her way into Randy's three man scuffle and was trying to wrench them apart, her strength at odds with even his own. The alpha's vice-like grip on his arm tugged him away from Ambrose's chest long enough to give him solid distance for a right hook to his jaw while Punk turned on Natalya and snarled at her interference, obviously not in the right mind to register that the woman was on his side. Their own actions were quickly losing finesse and coherence because of _Dean fucking Ambrose._

“Up and at em', big guy!” To the side Kidd was pulling Cody to his feet, the other omega keeping his priority on getting people of similar build out of the disaster zone.

That definitely would not do.

That was—that was _his_ —if the runty omega thought he could just—

Randy was to his feet before anyone could react and reached out to try and catch Tyson via his shorts. It was Cody who spun the other man out of the way and lashed out at Randy, catching him in the head and snapping his momentum to the ground. Rhodes was heaving from the effort, practically collapsed in Kidd's arms, but still had that annoyingly determined look on his face that Randy knew well. The look that meant he was gonna take at least nine more RKOs to actually keep on the ground and even then he'd probably find a way to kick out. Randy couldn't help but huff out an amused chuckle and enjoyed the flicker of surprise that flitted across Cody's face.

Then Natalya was literally throwing Punk over his head and he was able to witness the smaller man's look of sheer terror right before he collided with the floor. _Damn_ but that woman was scary. The distraction was apparently all Dean needed because the enraged alpha scrambled loose and knocked Kidd to the side, got his hands on Cody's waist and chest, and yelled as he charged the boy backwards and then over the ropes. Cody crashed outside the ring and the crowd screamed at the primal display, pumped up on watching a bunch of idiots beat the crap out of each other. 

There was no one to stop Randy when he jumped the side of the ring alongside Ambrose. Punk was floored, Natalya preoccupied with making sure Tyson was okay, and Cesaro grappling Seth and Roman with Goldust's help. As soon as Randy landed he locked eyes with the other alpha, saw the challenge in them, and reacted accordingly. 

Dean didn't manage to move in time to avoid the fist lashed out at his stomach and he doubled over from the power behind it. The next breath he was punching back, impulsively aiming for Randy's thigh. The pain that followed burned but the burn only set Randy's teeth on edge even more and made him want to claw into the impudent challenger. 

“It's an _all out brawl_ here on RAW!” Someone was enthusiastically narrating, “And Randy Orton is absolutely _wailing_ on Dean Ambrose!”

Damn right he was.

"The Shield is cornered and look at that _beautiful_ double team Goldust and Cesaro are executing on Rollins and Reigns!"

Good riddance.

“And Cody—Cody Rhodes is running! Rhodes is _running away from a fight_ —unbelievable! I don't think I've ever seen Cody back down from anything!”

Wait, what?

Both his head and Dean's snapped up to stare incredulously at the stage, the fight between them frozen. Cody had somehow stumbled his way to the top and braced himself on the giant screens set up at the entrance without anyone noticing, hunched over and an arm wrapped around his stomach protectively. His look back towards them was almost comical, Randy mused, eyes popped wide as he realized that they had definitely caught sight of him trying to strategically retreat. Omegas were _so very tricky_ but so easy to startle in the right circumstances. Though, a threatened omega was the most slippery kind of omega, and as much as Randy didn't like sharing he slowly broke their gaze to side eye Ambrose contemplatively.

"And, wait, what the heck?! _Uh oh,_ looks like Orton and Ambrose have a common enemy! Cody Rhodes better learn to run faster!"

Dean's own stare was calculating but not as clouded with pure anger now. The crowd was bloodthirsty, cheering them on to catch Rhodes and drag him back to the ring for a good beat down. 

Well. He didn't feel like getting caught in a Cross-Rhode and he could ever so barely respect a man with drive. As long as that man _respected_ what was obviously his and had been his for years, feuding or not. Ambrose barely twitched his head in a nod back, a silent affirmation that he understood enough for now to get what he wanted without having to pummel his way through another nine competitors.

Music was blaring again, signaling that Kane himself was about to enter the area and probably try and put a stop to the all out brawl in and out of the ring. That was incentive enough for him to get moving.

Randy switched his attention back to Cody who was now backing up from them, smart enough not to try turning and running away from two highly dangerous alphas. There was something like fondness in Randy's gut when he looked into his former teammate's eyes, fondness mixed with something vicious and keen on revisiting old times. Dean let loose a foreboding chuckle next to him and took a step forward.

_That_ was all it took to finally make Cody abandon all logic and bolt to safety, and for Randy and Ambrose to take off after him, camera crews trying desperately to keep up still thinking this was about the match. 

No matter, they'd all have to tire out some time. And then he and Cody were going to have a nice chat with Dean fucking Ambrose on the side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc...


	3. Omegaverse: D/C/R pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write sex scenes but here's the second part to that drabble.

One of the last things Cody saw before bolting was Goldust's frantic expression.

*

The match hadn't gone as planned, obviously. It was a shame too because he thought they might've been able to pull out a win with Punk on their side. The thing was normally Cody could pick up on when an alpha was ready to put out within a certain radius. He was exceptionally good at avoiding such confrontations and made a point of doing so whenever necessary. The situation could be blamed on a multitude of different reasons (he could think of _so_ many) but the bottom line was that Dean Ambrose was in heat in a ring with him and the crowd had no idea. Far too late it occurred to him what the odd smell was and before he knew it, he was on his stomach being hauled up by his hair.

Cody was not a weak willed person by any means. He'd clawed his way up to where he was now, endured suicide matches against people like Triple H himself, and secured his position in the WWE. No matter how stubborn he was though, he couldn't stop his body from a natural reaction. There had been a time that Cody had asked Jimmy Uso what heat felt like for an alpha (a guy was allowed to be curious). Omegas, as it turned out, felt completely different. Where an alpha felt an increase in aggression and were struck with a frenzied sort of desire, heat painfully hot, omegas felt it like a slow crawl of pleasure up the spine; more of a massage to their very core. His own biology made him want to relax himself into Ambrose's grip even as mentally he knew how badly he wanted to punch the smug attack dog in the throat. 

Before things became mortifying Randy Orton of all people jumped the ropes a millisecond before CM Punk and threw himself at Dean. It was surprising in a way that had his stomach flip flopping and tingling, combining with the rising tide of old negative intrusive feelings. The ring was chaos—no one cared that the bell had been rung or that three referees were now trying to break up the wrestlers. Everything was suddenly too bright, too loud, too warm. He wanted to get up and like an angel in Beat headphones, Tyson Kidd appeared. Omegas were a safe place—his ma had always taught him that. When in doubt, trust his instincts or trust the nearest omega. They were separated nearly as quickly as they'd been united much to his despair, thanks to the efforts of Randy and Dean.

It was frustrating being barely able to walk without his head spinning and even more humiliating to know he looked like a coward. But better to be able to fight another day without posturing himself on live tv. Trust his instincts. His instincts were screaming at him not to look back.

He did anyways.

*

Behind the scenes of the WWE auditoriums were long pale hallways that stretched around the entire complex and a multitude of rooms. Storage, dressing, medical, shower—too much to think about. There were dozens of people backstage from other wrestlers to production managers to people in want of an interview. 

Cody knew he reeked; he was putting off a trail without meaning to which meant he needed to find somewhere to hide soon and there was no telling who might be set off by him. It was going to be like a domino effect, he knew. It was only a matter of time before anyone close ran into him or the others and were triggered into some mass inconvenient orgy (and what a mental image that was). He sincerely hoped for once that Triple H was doing his job and evacuating the building.

“ _Shit_ —” His boot caught on something (his own shoe lace...?) and he stumbled into the closest wall clumsily.

“Watch it.” Grumpy, accented, familiar.

“Wade!” He gasped out, hauling himself upright with shaking arms. 

Barrett's expression warped from irritation to horrified realization once his nostrils flared and caught his scent, “Rhodes--what are you _doing_ running around like this?”

“Not my fault.” He mumbled, annoyed that the other man would automatically assume he'd be dumb enough to let this happen to himself willingly, “Ambrose.”

“...That explains why Stephanie looked like she was going to personally murder someone.” Wade mused to himself, half turned towards Cody and half distancing himself from the lagging omega. 

There were shouts in the nearby vicinity. Both he and Barrett's heads swiveled in the direction, attentively listening in on what danger could possibly be forming. One of those voices was definitely a pissed off sounding Viper and again Cody felt his stomach squirm uncomfortably from nerves. He honestly wasn't afraid of Randy—obviously not given his track record with fighting his former mentor—he was more put off by the memory of the predatory gleam in Orton's eyes when they'd locked gazes. That was something he'd never seen before and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

“ _Okay!_ ” Barrett ran a hand down his face but made no move to abandon him to the wolves yet, “So you're royally fucked thanks to Ambrose and I can only assume everyone who was in that ring is in a similar position.”

Cody nodded mutely back, unable to do much more than tighten his hands into fists and battle between the desire to punch the wall for being so inconvenient or grab Wade by the face and kiss him. Barrett, for his part, seemed to notice his demeanor and took another small step back to put more distance between them with a disgruntled air. 

“Who's chasing y—”

“Cody! Cody Rhodes!” And if that wasn't the icing on the cake, Renee Young ran up with an earnest and excited spring her steps. Obviously she wasn't aware of how dire things were if she was this enthusiastic. Then again, maybe the beta did know and didn't care. “Could I have a few words?”

The last thing he needed was a microphone being shoved in his face and a camera filming his every movement. Cody stiffened, irrationally categorizing the potential interview as a threat on an instinctual level, and nearly growled at the cameraman. He was going to fucking lose it and they were going to film every moment—and then the fans were never going to look at him the same. There was no way he could keep it together and smile like nothing was wrong with the heat progressively increasing between his legs and making his heart beat faster.

“About tonight's match: why exactly did you run?” There was no way Young wasn't aware of how he smelled, but her merciless smile clued him in as to how much she didn't care.

Reporters were the _worst._

“Excuse me, Renee.” Wade cut in, physically stepping between their not so subtle glaring contest and giving the camera a forced smile, “I think the better question is what I'm going to do to Sheamus during our match.”

Cody could've really kissed him.

“And allow me to make your job easier. I am going to take Sheamus by his ginger tufts and wring him out to dry.” Barrett grew more confident as he talked, easily falling into the rhythm of insults, “The Celtic warrior isn't going to know his own _name_ when I'm done with him.”

Renee looked supremely unimpressed and he didn't blame her; it wasn't one of Wade's more clever speeches. The distressing noises grew closer prompting Barrett to forge onwards.

“Look, the two of us? We have important business to attend to, like anything other than being nagged by a _bloody leech._ ” The last part was practically spit out but Young remained unmoved. Honestly Cody hoped she was never allowed in a ring, she'd probably rip the throats out of every opponent she faced and spend the whole time looking friendly on screen while doing it.

“Actually, I _really_ was hoping to get a few words from Cody.” She pressed, cocking an eyebrow challengingly at the tall man. 

Barrett floundered for a response, off his game. There was sweat gathering at the base of his neck and starting to trickle down the sides of his face—shit. If the both of them ended up kickstarted into heat during an interview session there was no way they were going to escape with their pride intact. Cody was going to have to back the other omega up and bite the bullet. 

“Renee...” He started, eyes darting from looking at the woman and glancing paranoidly down the hallway, “I—I really don't. The Shield is...they cheat, y'know?”

Renee's lips had pressed together in an obvious attempt not to laugh as his voice rose an entire octave and cracked. She nodded her head nevertheless and pretended to look intrigued by his response, like it had some merit to it. Cody was definitely going to prank her back for this so brutally she was going to regret ever picking a press badge up.

“And I, I uh.” That was about when Dean turned the corner first and he knew his eyes were now bulging out of his skull at the sight, “I— _Igottago!_ ”

The cameraman only had a second to turn and catch Ambrose stalking up before Wade suddenly shoved him towards the irate alpha. Some other time Cody would feel bad for offering up the stranger like a sacrificial lamb. Right now he was mentally praising Barrett for his ingenuity and turning on heel to run again. Wade stayed behind, the taller man snarling at Dean and firing off challenges. 

“ _Cody._ ” That was definitely Orton's voice and Cody's knees almost gave out.

“Keep going, the next right is an exit.” Renee was suddenly next to him, hauling his weight along through sheer willpower alone and microphone forgotten on the ground. He must have looked as confused as he felt because Young allowed a brief chuckle and a quick smile, “Was under orders, I swear. But you need to get outta here, man.”

So much for Triple H helping instead of hindering for once. Guy couldn't resist taking at least one jab at the Rhodes family even during a crisis. 

“Thanks.” He possibly gurgled at her and then lurched clumsily towards the direction pointed out.

If he could make it outside he could make someone drive him away. Hell, he could drive himself away. Cody was a grown man, he'd had to deal with heats that came early before and been forced to navigate his way out of tense situations. Treacherously his mind reminded him that in the earlier days of his career he'd had someone to go home to, someone to alleviate the deep sated ache. 

Ted had been one of those people back when they'd still been Legacy. It was never anything more than a helpful hand between teammates, and they'd never spoke about it save for the moments desire was cramping their workouts and preventing them from accomplishing anything. There had never been any question to it either, no second thoughts about keeping their hands to each other and giving Randy his space. Cody doubted their former fearless leader would've appreciated the topic anyways. He had always been distant even when they were on their best terms. 

That and he was certain Ted would have sooner strangled Randy than slept with him. Cody used to not understand the bloodthirsty intent, but he figured Ted would be satisfied with his attitude if he could see him now.

These days there was just himself but Cody didn't care. He could handle it. He could wait out the raw feelings and have Goldust make sure he stayed indoors for a few days. It wasn't the most ideal outcome, but then he was already in an unfavorable position as it was. (And was it really? His mind questioned, _two alphas_ were willing to help.)

A group consisting of four security detail hustled towards him from the other end of the hallway. He must be labeled as one of the major people at fault on whatever list Stephanie had, because they immediately started towards him as soon as they spotted him with the lead uniformed women shouting at him to stay still. It was pretty poor timing given that he'd managed to find his way to the exit door right as they'd noticed and was preparing to stagger his way outside. He really, really wasn't in the mood to trust whatever plan the Authority had for something like this happening.

Trust his instincts. He needed to get away from this building and the overpowering musk that was clogging the air. One of Cody's hands grappled with the handle while the other braced his weight against the cool metal. It wasn't helping to subside the progressively increasing warmth, it just made him feel like he was going to overheat. The sound of the groups footsteps were heard through a funnel, fuzzy in his head. He noticed too late that their footsteps were increasing like they were trying to race to him. Why would they need to do that?

The reason came in the form of Ambrose's hand suddenly clamping down on his shoulder and spinning him around. The world was a nauseating blur of motion and made him want to sit down but a strong shoulder caught him around the abdomen and he was suddenly hauled into a grip like a sack of potatoes. The way Dean was standing fairly casually before him as he tried to right his momentum clued him in on who else exactly was holding him. 

“If you'll excuse us.” Orton practically bit out and while Cody couldn't see what was going on, he could feel the atmosphere thicken with tension. Dean side stepped Randy and bared his teeth into a poor semblance of a smile at the group.

“Go tell the big man we're fine. Go on, shoo.” Ambrose flapped his hand dismissively, “...Unless you _wanna_ fight.”

No one was stupid enough to believe that was a good idea for anyone's health. Cody honestly wasn't surprised when he felt Randy move past the guards without a fuss raised. One of the men at least had the decency to look apologetic.

Cody just thumped his fist weakly into Orton's back and tried to ignore the shark-like grin Ambrose was directing towards him.

*

This wasn't what shower rooms were supposed to be used for but the two alphas didn't care and Cody was finding it harder and harder to waste time on the thought of someone potentially walking in.

He was glad his knee pads were still on (along with his boots) or the tiled floor would've probably made his bones too sore to brace himself already. The dark green of his trunks were what he'd been staring at for a while, discarded somewhere in front of him and gathering a damp spot from the puddles of water on the ground. He had long since given up on trying to hold himself with shaking arms and just allowed his chest to rest on the floor. It was comforting, an opposing temperature to the one that had overtaken his body.

Ambrose's face suddenly filled his field of vision. He had crouched down to stare at him searchingly and must have liked the dazed sheen that had overtaken him. Cody was unable to do much more than weakly twitch and squirm in Randy's hold, the man running his tongue in places he really shouldn't behind him. The grip Orton had on his sides was like a vice and his ass was probably going to be bruised in more way than one by the end of this.

Still, he was craving the attention now and pushing back against the tongue intruding into him with an edge of desperation. 

“Any _day_ now.” Dean hissed, his eyes never leaving Cody's face. 

Randy's tongue left him and Cody nearly whined in frustration. He needed someone to keep going or he was going to go find another person himself and no one was going to be able to stop him. Ambrose huffed in amusement and looked up to the other alpha. The Shield member was still cautious enough not to suddenly take control without permission, which was a small mercy. Cody didn't want to be caught between two feuding heat-driven men right now.

“You ever heard of prep, Ambrose?” Orton's voice was a deep rumble that made Cody want to spread his legs wider, which, honestly, he sort of hated himself for.

“You've been prepping him for like an _hour!_ ” Dean snapped, “I ain't gonna wait another thirty minutes for you to fulfill whatever fantasy you're living out right now. The kid looks like he's about to cream himself and we haven't even gotten off yet. How unfair is that?”

Randy paused, probably to stare the younger alpha down and remind him who exactly he was talking to, but relented to his logic if the hands suddenly hauling Cody upright was any indication. Cody's head was forcibly turned to face the Viper; this close he could feel Randy's breath on his neck and it sent a shiver down his spine. The alpha thoughtfully tapped a finger on his cheekbone, gaze skimming from his face down the length of his front and then back up again. Somewhere along the lines he'd acquired a variety of creatively placed bruises from both men and it seemed to fascinate Orton.

“You've been a lot of trouble, Rhodes.” He absently stated, “Time to make it up to me.”

“Us. Make it up to _us._ ” Ambrose corrected. Randy grimaced and didn't comment further.

Cody had never been in a threesome before. Sure, he'd seen it in porn like most every other young man out there, but there was always a girl involved in those videos who was obviously experienced at taking dick both ways. He could honestly say he'd never had a man shove into him from behind and from the front before now, and he was seriously doubting his lacking blow jobs skills were going to suddenly improve when the feeling of finally being filled was making him choke on keens and prompting him to push back into Randy. 

Dean didn't seem to care much because he directed Cody's head to his unzipped pants and leaking cock without hesitating. 

“Open wide, Cody.” There was still a streak of cruel humor in Ambrose's tone and in the way he tightly gripped his face. 

The plan was to shoot some sort of quip back and possibly save some face (because Cody wasn't so far gone that he couldn't demand respect) but any words that could've escaped were cut off by the needy whine he emitted due to Randy suddenly snapping his hips forwards. The only reason he hadn't face planted again was because both men supported his weight. Cody reluctantly and experimentally licked along Dean's length, sloppily aiming for what he assumed were more sensitive areas. 

“That's it, Codes.” Figured Ambrose would be a vocal partner. Cody grunted back at him in response and Dean had the audacity to chuckle, “He's feisty! I can see why you wanna keep him to yourself, Randy.”

“You're _really_ testing my patience.” Randy warningly leaned closer, the movement nestling Cody's head in the crook of Dean's thigh.

“Don't I always?” Too cheeky. 

One of Ambrose's hands lifted to curl into Cody's hair and he yanked it hard enough to elicit a yelp. Randy let loose a heated growl that had the other alpha quickly raising his free hand in defense.

“Woah, woah, woah—we can't have a little roughhousing? It's just hair pulling, Orton, not a BDSM session.” 

“Give me _one more reason_ to regret this.” Randy stated, threat hanging in the air.

Largely Cody was getting more impatient with how the two felt the need to converse and forget about what they were in the middle of. He was certain some small part of him that was left was going to be peeved at himself for getting so into the unfolding events, but currently he didn't care. So to shut Dean up from probably carrying on the argument for another minute, he took the tip of the man's dick into his mouth and ran his tongue cautiously along the slit. 

Dean audibly choked on his words and his body curled in on itself from the feeling. It was nice being able to control whether or not Ambrose got to speak. There was something empowering from it even though Cody wasn't quite liking the taste of the other's spunk. Randy was interested in the turn of events, pausing in his advances to crane his neck and watch him struggle to figure out the technique necessary for a blowjob. 

He knew at the very least if teeth were involved he was going to get punched in the face.

Imitating what he remembered doing with Ted only once or twice was the best he could manage. He bobbed his head and tried to apply some sort of pressure and secondary motion with his tongue, feeling out a larger vein on the underside of Ambrose's cock. There was an aggravated sound behind him—Randy was getting more riled up with each passing moment—and the man adjusted his grip on Cody to start up again, this time at an unexpectedly harder and faster pace. 

Whatever skill Cody might have thought he had was forgotten when he could barely keep his mouth closed from each wave of pleasure. Dean must have noticed and took matters into his own hands, shoving his dick deeper without warning and catching Cody off guard once more. For a few panicked seconds he forgot how to breathe and struggled against Dean's grip until he managed to avert his airway to his nose. Drool was already becoming something of a problem, pooling in his mouth and leaking out the sides of his lips. Everything was getting messy and Randy and Dean were relentless, Ambrose making him choke and struggle and Orton locating his prostrate without trouble. 

It was too much—there were tears running tracks down his face, eyes watering from the burn and from how lightheaded he was getting from the inability to properly breathe. Cody clung on to Dean's pants, clawing at them for support as he felt his orgasm start to peak. 

“Think he looks better like this.” Dean panted, “We should do this more often.”

“No.” Randy ground out, one hand kept firmly on Cody while the other hooked into the collar of Ambrose's shirt and jerked him closer, “He's _mine._ ”

Cody was mortified that he came directly after the deceleration, the final push needed to send him over the edge. He moaned unashamedly around Dean's dick and in a daze tried to suck harder, hips making aborted twitching motions through every pull of pleasure that wracked his body. Ambrose followed, keeping his face shoved deep onto his cock and made him choke down every bit of cum that spurted out. Randy only had to thrust twice more before his own was drawn from him, the intensity of Cody clamping down on him wringing out a muttered curse.

For a blessed moment there was nothing but the sound of all three panting from their combined pleasure and water dripping from shower heads. Dean sagged and pulled Cody free, a string of drool connecting his mouth to other's softening dick before Cody went boneless. His mouth felt raw and his throat was sore enough to where he knew he was going to sound like he gargled gravel. Randy was reluctant to pull free, fingers digging into his sides before releasing him, and once he did Cody hissed at the feeling of emptiness. There was cum dribbling down the inside of his thighs—he didn't even want to think about that right now.

Dean collapsed and patted the floor next to him; Cody limply flopped stomach down. He was both annoyed and content with the way his ass ached, hunger sated for the time being and clearing his head of most fog. Randy chose to sit down on his other side, setting a hand possessively on Cody's back (as though he hadn't just made his claim or anything). The heat was, for the moment, subsided through combined effort. It'd probably be a while longer before any of them found the drive to sport a boner.

One of Dean's hands slapped Cody on the shoulder cheerfully and he started, eyeballing the other man tiredly. To his horror he noticed that Ambrose was already growing erect again.

“So. Who's ready for round two?”

_Fucking Dean Ambrose._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope u enjoyed and appreciate Shield!Dean/Cody/Randy a little more now.


	4. Zombie AU (pt. 1?): no pairing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about The Walking Dead lately and this happened. I'm unsure if there'll be a part two.
> 
> I would like to possibly make more little excerpts involving other characters and what they're going through in different parts of the country.

Punk had never been a religious man.

He'd spent his days fighting for money (legally—MMA, c'mon.) and spent his nights relaxing in the life he'd made for himself. Some friends had wanted him to join this and that and he'd always politely declined. Even when the world had caved in on itself and suddenly everyone was either eating each other or throwing each other under the bus in their panic, masses taking refuge in churches or synagogs as though holy ground could actually protect them, he didn't regard the unfolded events as the wrath of a higher power. In his opinion it was more than likely the work of some idiot power hungry group of nerds. That was how it always happened in the movies anyways.

They said (and really, who was _they_ and why did everyone trust their judgment) the virus was airborn. Then they said it was in the water. Then they declared it was transmitted through exchanged fluids like an STD, but by that point half the world was dead and the other half was too busy trying to survive to listen. At the end of the day did it really matter how it happened? Punk wasn't a smart science guy, he didn't care _how_ , he cared about the when and where. 

When was he going to have to fight again and where did he need to go next?

Admittedly he'd been lucky so far. The (months? Years?) time that had passed meant there were less new corpses shambling around but the remaining people were the greater danger now. He couldn't blame them. It was all about getting through another day with whatever means necessary and he'd mostly treat others the way they treated him. Punk had seen first hand what people were capable of. People had seen first hand what he was capable of too.

He supposed it'd been fortuitous that he'd run into Randy when he did back during a terrible idea he'd had to swing through the city of Miami. Together they were virtually unstoppable when they weren't at each others throats. Previous groups that he'd tried to shack up with had been bad juju. There were too many people who didn't know how to survive and by far had too many weaknesses to prey on.

First rule of the zombie apocalypse: don't let anyone know you're anything less than unstoppable or prepare to have a knife shoved into your gut and your supplies stolen.

Randy Orton was the definition what Punk would've pictured if someone mentioned violent psychopath. It wasn't the tattoos, the shaved head, or the dangerous way he could make everything into a weapon. No, it was more because of the mean look in his eyes and the predatory way he would bare his teeth at the world, unmoved by the idea of himself or anyone else getting murdered. It also helped that where Punk had been a professional, Randy had been an underground, more illegal fighter. Two determined, harsh men with prior knowledge on how to fend off the odds meant misfortune for most others.

There was little they disagreed on, but then there was little they spoke of. It was an unsaid rule that they steered clear of human encampments and remained a duo. At night they would take shifts watching, careful not to startle the other awake lest they end up on the receiving end of a knife. All spoils were split equally to ensure either man could fully protect the others back. All bases covered, life kept simple and sweet.

Except when it wasn't.

“No.” Randy obviously wasn't even willing to consider what Punk was trying to explain. Hell, Punk hadn't even had a chance to fully get out his sentence before the bigger man cut him off.

“Look, I get it. We don't go near these places usually—”

“For good reason.” Randy turned his gaze towards him, a piercing look that had his hand twitching automatically towards one of the many weapons stored on his person.

“But you gotta look at things logically, Orton.” Punk plowed on, “We're running low on supplies and it's only gonna get colder. Have you looked at the clouds lately? I bet you everything I have in my left pocket that it's gonna snow and then what are we gonna do? Eat bark?”

The taller man was making aborted motions and had sucked his mouth into a pinched up grimace, two very distinct signs of his anger issues and how displeased he was with Punk's continued argument. Normally he wouldn't be trying this hard to convince Randy to go inside a building on the outskirts of a city. This was risky, a high level hazard that was usually off limits. If there weren't zombies inside, there were probably scavengers which was even worse. But Punk wasn't wrong—with winter already blown into the southern area (and honestly he'd lost track of what state they were in weeks ago) they were on a time crunch and grasping at straws.

From the looks of it Randy knew it too, he just didn't want to admit it. 

“Look—” He tried to start again but was cut off by a panicked scream that was far too close for comfort.

Both men immediately pulled out the closest weapon and turned on the, what they had been hoping was empty, building. Heavy silence followed until yet another scream ripped through the air, loud enough to feel like a foghorn going off to draw everything around near. Randy's grip on his ax was tight enough to turn his fingers white and Punk knew that similarly, his hands were doing the same around his pipe. Orton spared him a side eye.

“Still want to go inside?” 

“Maybe I do.” Punk countered, on edge already from the yelling and even moreso with Randy's mocking tone, “You can stay out here if you want.”

And this was why it was better if they didn't talk to each other.

Without further ado, fueled by adrenaline and aggravation, he began stalking towards the building. It wasn't fast enough to potentially be blindsided by zombie or human as he didn't have a death wish, just a point to make, but it was quick enough to ensure that he could possibly see who had been making all the noise. He was kind of hoping whoever screamed was already dead so they could take over the area without any trouble. Perhaps that was bad of him to desire but, honestly, the world was the thing that was wrong—he had just adapted to get by.

He could hear Randy reluctantly following him; Orton was always light on his toes in a way that seemed at odds with his large size. Luckily Punk had been around the other man long enough to pick up on the slightest familiar shift on wilted grass. The front door to the building—which Punk assumed had been some sort of office before—was off its hinges. It didn't matter if the doors to the upper levels were still working. They could always board off the hole if need be and they would stick to the safest area if they decided to stay.

Punk took his pipe and smacked the door frame a few times while Randy lounged against the wall, still on high alert despite his relaxed exterior. Within a minute faint groaning turned louder and a lone walker shambled up. It might have once been a beautiful woman but now it was so decayed that the kneecap sickeningly trembled in place every time it took a step, making unsettling popping and cracking noises. Skeletal hands outstretched towards Punk's person, frayed flesh mottled shades of purple, green, and yellow. She—it—would truly be a horrific spectacle to a bystander who hadn't grown accustomed to seeing the macabre on a daily basis.

It was allowed three more unsteady steps before Punk's pipe smashed brutally into the skull, hard enough to pop out an eye and cave the weakened bone in. He was fairly certain there were teeth scattered on the ground next to the crumpled up body and he wondered if he'd managed to knock out a molar this time. He'd tried adjusting his swing but a guy couldn't be perfect.

“Punk.” Randy's voice was warning and stopped him from swinging at the downed zombie again.

An arm was wrapped around Orton's throat, anchoring him in place and forcing him to bend awkwardly backwards to accommodate for the other person's height. Randy's ax wasn't on the ground but instead held steadily to the side, just off enough to ensure a ruinous downswing that would more than likely fatally wound the man. A part of Punk was amazed that someone had managed to get the drop on Randy. The other was calculating what he needed to do to cave in a living beings skull without possibly losing his best ally.

“Drop it.” Male then. Younger, but not too young. Definitely sure of what he was doing.

Punk smiled disarmingly and placed his pipe on the ground before raising his hands in the air into a mocking surrender. The hand holding the ax gestured and Punk bit back a sigh, kicking the pipe to the side as well. So not an idiot either.

“Can we talk about this?” He tried, ignoring the venomous glare Randy was directing towards him, “We could make a deal?”

The man snorted, still hidden behind Randy's bulk.

“ _Nope!_ No deals!” The words were practically sang and it made the hair on the back of Punk's neck raise, “You leave or you die.”

There were highs and lows to the man's voice, words drawn out and spat almost childishly, jokingly. If this guy was a nut they were really screwed. Nothing was worse than an individual who had lost their sanity somewhere between the dead walking and people murdering fellow survivors. 

“Unless you don't care about your...acquaintance? That can be arranged to deal with easily.”

“ _Cody!_ ”

Another voice called out, startling a hiss of all things out of the stranger. The ax wavered and Punk immediately sprang into action, rolling to the side to get his hands on his pipe while Randy suddenly jabbed backwards with his elbow and drove it into the man's gut. He had no chance to react from doubling over before Randy had whirled around, grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed a solid knee into his chest. The stranger went down heavily, ax dropped onto the grass and quickly scooped up by Orton. He was raising it to more than likely bring down on the head of his assailant (better safe than sorry) when the distinct sound of a safety being cocked had all three of them freezing.

The individual that had called out was before them, rifle trained on Punk. 

Shit.

“Put the ax down or I blow your chum's head off.” His voice was deep, a growl accented thickly.

Randy's eyes darted towards Punk, and who was he kidding if Randy bailed he probably wouldn't even be surprised, and then back to the young man half crouched on the ground. Orton hated to lose advantages but guns were no joke; he dropped the ax unceremoniously and then unblinkingly glared at the first stranger when he darted a hand forward to snatch it to his person.

The one on the ground looked unnervingly pleased with the turn of events and started to crow, “Barrett—!”

“Shut up, Cody.” This Barrett didn't sound happy, “You've caused enough trouble.”

Cody finally stood and Punk got a good look at him. The kid was oddly good looking given that the apocalypse had turned everyone into hobo-chic. He was beardless, had intense cheekbones, and even more striking blue eyes. Currently his face was scrunched up in distress, obviously put off by his companion's tone.

“But Barrett, we could just gank them now and take their stuff!” Cody protested, waving both his arms and the ax through the air carelessly.

“I said _shut up_ , Cody!” Barrett's voice raised to a shout and Cody flinched back before his stance melted into something more petulant.

“You're just uptight because I came up with an amazing plan.” He grumbled, "And look, it worked! We needed supplies well now _we have them!_ "

Randy shifted subtly behind the sulking man, turning slightly to even the odds and take Cody hostage. The smaller man automatically tensed and then turned more smoothly and quickly than Punk liked, expertly twirling the ax in his hands and keeping it between he and Orton. The emotions slid so fast across Cody's face that Punk had a hard time keeping up with what could be going through the man's head. 

Where Barrett's expression was hard as a rock and revealed nothing, Cody's had turned into something deceitfully sharp, a crocodile smile alongside mirthfully ice cold eyes.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He crooned, “You stay right there, big guy.”

That was how Punk met Wade Barrett and Cody Rhodes, his soon to be new allies against the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback always welcome, even for drabbles!


	5. WITNESS PROTECTION AU: Randy/Cody (Stardust)

**1.) WITNESS PROTECTION AU → Stardust/Randy pre-Witness Protection; “embarrassed”.**

They called him Stardust.

Well... _he_ called himself Stardust as no one else really knew who he was. Honestly Cody wasn’t sure why his gimmick hadn’t caught on yet given that he ran around in face paint and a star-patterned outfit (complete with a cape). Maybe this was his fault, he _did_ only stop cash register thieves or particularly violent jay-walkers. It was about time for him to get serious.

And that meant hard crimes.

An hour and one near death experience later he was on the roof to a very suspicious looking warehouse. There hadn’t really been a reason for checking the building out besides the fact that it looked like the kind of place someone would conduct a drug trade or something. He wasn’t even entirely sure _why_ he had climbed all the way to the roof, just that halfway up when he’d almost fell he’d been too prideful to stop.

So there he was, lounging on the damp shingles of some creepy warehouse that may have been built on a Native American burial ground for all he knew. The most he was beginning to expect to see was that girl from the Grudge to crawl out from one of the flat rooftop windows.

If that happened he could probably take her. Maybe. He had a metal baseball bat.

Surprisingly he had no need to when the sound of a large rusted door opening and closing caught him so off guard that he nearly slipped and fell again. From his precarious perch he could spot dark shapes moving around below.

Crap, the building _was_ actually a host for drug trade. Cody--er-- _Stardust_ smiled victoriously to himself, readying his bat and shuffling to his feet. All he had to do was climb down and get at least one of these people to the police. Then everyone would remember his name!

He hadn’t noticed the lengths of old wire still coiled around the roof and caught on things. Nor had he expected to get his foot wrapped in one. The moment he took a step too far he tripped and went crashing down into one of the windows.

Then he went _through_ the sky light.

For a second all he registered was fragile glass breaking from the weight of his body and the stomach turning feeling of being suspended in free fall. Then there was pain when the wire snapped viciously tight around his ankle and he was halted from splatting into the floor below. The bone throbbing made him worried it may be sprained or broken, but he was too distracted by his swinging through the air that was still happening from the aftershocks of his velocity.

Somewhere in there he’d dropped his bat and he could hear men yelling. The cape had tangled around his head and was kind of making it hard to see.

While he struggled to free his vision, embarrassed beyond belief and scared out of his mind of the position he was in, a hand managed to get a firm enough grip on one of his shoulders to stop his dizzying rotations. He froze, fingers dug into the fabric of his cape, suddenly a little more hesitant to unveil his head and potentially see a gun cocked at his face.

“What the _fuck_!” A voice exploded to his left, “Who the hell is this?!”

“Does he got _stars_ on em’?” Another snickered to his right.

The embarrassment grew tenfold. _Stars were cool!_

The hand on his shoulder lifted and another joined it to untangle the cape from his head, allowing it to fall limply towards the ground. He blinked a few times, unable to really focus on his surroundings with everything being so dark and upside down.

“So.” A third voice spoke, but directly in front of him.

It struck him a little too late that he was eye-level with someone’s stomach. The pattern he’d been so puzzled about belonged to a shirt and, as he trailed his eyes upwards and craned his neck, the shirt belonged to a very intimidating tattooed man who was cracking a half smile at his woozy but scared stare.

Stardust was pretty sure death would be more merciful at this point.  


“Who might you be?” The man asked.

In a word? Stupid.


	6. WEREWOLF AU: Enzo/Cass

**WEREWOLF AU→ Enzo Amore/Big Cass in a haunted house; “unlucky”.**

Enzo Amore was pretty sure he was the unluckiest guy on the planet.

Not in the bad looking loser dude way (cause’ he was a straight up G and knew he was hot to boot), but more in the life was out to get him way. First there was the supernatural bumfuck town thing, then the Carmella dated a werewolf for a month thing, then the biker gang of bloodthirsty old guys who wanted to...shit, maybe take over the town or somethin’? That was still a little unclear to him.

Anyways, his life had been crappy lately. He’d picked up more weirdoes in the last few months than he ever had in his life. To top it off here he was, standing inside the doorway to some “haunted house” with the werewolf his best friend had dated--because _apparently_ he had nothing better to do with his time.

Nevermind the fact that he hated horror movies and still thought the closet monster existed (life was _really_ making him second guess all the stuff his parents had told little Enzo was fake). Nevermind the fact that his only other options of people to hang out with were a literal witch hunter, some creep who liked to smell him, or a self entitled brat who drew nutjobs to him like moths to a flame. _Nevermind the fact_ that Cass was currently smiling peacefully down at him like he knew how scared he already was!

Aw shit-- _could_ he smell that? Could werewolves do that?

Like he said: unluckiest guy. And he couldn’t back out now, not with his sneakers firmly planted to the rickity inner floorboards of this Texas Chainsaw wannabe. Cass walked ahead of him, cheerfully talking about how the joint wafted like a smelly armpit or somethin’. Enzo wasn’t really sure; he tended to tune the werewolf out, not yet sold on his innocence.

“You a’ight there, Zo’?” Cass interrupted his inner monologue.

He instantly puffed himself up, “Yeah, I’m _fine_ \--n’ don’t call me Zo’!”

“Whatever you say.” Cass continued to smile, unperturbed and shaking his head as he continued exploring.

Enzo waited for him to exit to another room before trying to make any movements. His legs wobbled from fear but he managed to get himself to what appeared to be some sort of empty living room. Well, empty save for one object covered completely by a worn down sheet.

God, this was _exactly_ like every scary movie Carmella had forced him to watch.

“Who even goes to a place people say s’ haunted?” He complained quietly to himself, “It’s stupid.”

All the while he inched over to the covered object, slowly reaching a sweating hand out. He really, _really_ didn’t wanna touch it, but it’d be worse if he just left it there and was forced to wonder. Finally making the decision to rip it off like a band aid, he grabbed hold and whipped his arm around. The movement was reminiscent of the few times bugs had landed on him and he’d jittered his body to get them off.

Heart pounding, he looked to see what was underneath and then shrieked at the set of eyes that peered back at him.

“ _Oh fuck_ \--shit--!”

“Zo’?! What’s wrong?!” Cass thundered into the room, almost knocking him over in his haste.

Enzo practically jumped into his arms and pointed wildly at the uncovered object, “Holy fuck, it’s a _person_ , Cass! It’s a--a...mirror. Person.”

His reflection blinked dumbly back at him and recognition dawned on him. Cass, for his part, readjusted his grip on him and didn’t set him down. Instead Enzo was front row seat to the bigger man’s fit of laughter. The guy was turning a shade of pink from cackling so loudly, and Enzo could feel himself turning a similar shade for different reasons.

The humiliation drained the moment he looked past Cass to the doorway behind them. He inhaled so sharply he squeaked, jabbing the other man with his elbow to get his attention.

There was a woman standing there, her lower half fading out like it didn’t exist and holy fuck, this was _just his luck._


End file.
